


A New Assault

by dadmilkman



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-21 23:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6061384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadmilkman/pseuds/dadmilkman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Zevran joins Hawke's merry band of misfits. Zevran and Isabela catch up after so many years, and everyone gains a little perspective on what it's  like to lose a loved one. Set in a import where The Warden (a human mage from the circle of Magi) romances Zevran, and then makes the ultimate sacrifice to kill the Archdemon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“An assassin? Just don’t get yourself killed.”

Varric reclined in his favorite seat at the table of his Hanged Man suite, half a pint of ale in his hand, the other half already down the hatch. Hawke sat at his side, eagerly explaining the most recent job he’d acquired.

“You mean you won’t come with me?” Hawke asked, looking slightly disappointed. “You know I could always use my trusty dwarf. Besides, both Fenris and Anders are coming as well. I can’t imagine any conversations will be so enjoyable.” He tilted his head, employing the sad puppy eyed look. “Not without you.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Varric said, dismissing another one of Hawke’s frequent, if not futile, attempt to flatter. He set down his mug before he continued. “I would come with you, but I can’t. As much as I love the company of Blondie or Broody - separately, mind you - I’ve got another gig lined up. I’m leaving as soon as I decide I’ve had enough ale.”

“Oh, alright,” Hawke said in sad, mock defeat. ”Running off to save the world without me. Bring me back a souvenir, won’t you?”

“If this job goes well, I may bring back several.” Varric steepled his hands in thought. ”I’m helping take out a band of carta. A rather large one, or so I’ve been told. The robbing-and-plundering type.”

“Is there any other type of carta?” Hawke asked. He picked up Varric’s half downed mug of ale and finished it off. Varric chuckled, either at Hawke’s comment or his familiarity with Varric’s ale, or both.

“You have a point there,” he said. “Either way, I’m afraid I’ll be busy.”

Hawke nodded and stood, clapping Varric on the back in farewell. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said. “Try not to get dead, yourself. I fear for my coin purse if I have to cover your tab.”

Varric rolled his eyes with a smile and waved Hawke out of the room.

Descending the stairs to the main room of the Hanged Man, Hawke considered who he might take in Varric’s place. Merrill had also declared she was busy, although Hawke hadn’t asked with what. And he had been unable to find Aveline to ask for her assistance. Most likely she was off on her daily patrols, and if the case be so, she couldn't be pulled away.

Spotting a familiar pair of legs standing at the bar, he made a veer towards Isabela before leaving.

“Oh, if it isn’t Hawke,” she said. Her face was slightly tinged with pink, but Hawke knew better than to think she was less than sober. She could drink him over a time and a half.

“Isabela,” he said. “Just who I wanted to see.”

“Ooh, flattery first thing in the morning,” she said with a familiar smile. “I love it.”

“More than you love ale first thing in the morning?” Hawke asked. He wondered how many of the mugs littered around the bar were hers. “You do know it’s nearly noon, don’t you?”

“Is it really?” She laughed and took a sip of her drink only to find it was empty. “I guess I’ve lost track of the day. A charming gentleman spent almost an _hour_ trying to talk my ear off in the hopes I would join him for some ‘company’. And his flattery was lacking. Not nearly as good as yours.” She said the last bit with a raise of her brow. “But, I suppose you did come here for something. Besides just to say hello, and stare at me with wishful thinking.”

“You caught me.” He said. “I admit, I need your help.”

//

After speaking to the contact that Nuncio had mentioned - a woman in the Dalish clan on Sundermount -they proceeded to the location she described. The caves along the way were haunted by a regular number of mutant-like spiders and just a few undead corpses. Tearing their way through the cold, dank underground, Fenris voice echoed on the cave walls as he spoke.

“Why would this assassin wish to be found, I wonder.” He cleaned his sword on the hem of his shirt. “If he wishes for discovery, would it not make more sense to stay out in the open? Or yet, to confront this ‘Nuncio’ himself.”

Anders laughed, and even Hawke had to chuckle at Fenris comment. When he failed to see the humor, Anders continued.

“That’s a bit hypocritical coming from you, isn’t it? Don’t you hole up in that shack all day waiting for your master to send someone to your doorstep so you can kill them.” It wasn’t a question, but Fenris took the bait and answered. Hawke knew Anders was just trying to rile him up.

“ _Former_ master,” Fenris said with bitter distaste. Hawke made a mental note to ask Anders to chose his words with a bit more care. “And I hardly believe the sentiment is the same. I don’t live in a cave, on a mountain, surrounded by monsters.”

“Two out of three, my friend,” Anders said. Isabela laughed at the comment. Of present company, Anders and Isabela were the least understanding towards Fenris’ choice to stay in Denarius’ mansion.

“Either way,” Hawke said, interrupting their argument before it could go further. “I suppose it makes it easier for us, doesn’t it?”

“Unless we’re walking straight into a trap,” Isabela pointed out.

“I agree,” Fenris said. “Although if this is a trap, I have to wonder at the danger that this man actually poses. Rather foolish way to go about things. In effect, he’s now cornered.”

“And so are we,” Isabela said. “An abandoned cave is the perfect place to dump four bodies.”

Before anyone had time to retort or agree, they turned a corner and came to face with a small camp. A fire sat in the middle of the clearing, a tent pitched in a corner of jagged rock. A man, an elf, was standing off to the side with a dagger in his hand. Although he seemed pretty unfazed when four strangers stumbled into his campsite.

To everyone's surprise, Isabela laughed and spoke up first.  “I thought I smelled Antivan leather.”

“Isabela!” The man said. There was obvious delight in his voice, as if greeting an old friend. “If it isn’t my favorite pirate wench.” Well, maybe not a friend. Hawke couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult.

“Shouldn't you be dead by now?” Isabela asked. She crossed her arms in front of her as she laughed. No daggers in her hands, she clearly did not expect a fight.

“Could I not say the same of you, my dear. It would seem we were both in the fortune of gaining powerful friends, hm?” At this he glanced towards Hawke. His accent was sharp, and the way he framed his words around one another was a bit odd. Compared to the casual but brute tones of what Hawke was used to from Ferelden or Kirkwall, this man spoke with confident fluidity. He was a clear Antivan native, a northern country known for its beauty and bountiful trade market.

“So, tell me,” he continued, looking Hawke in the eyes. Hawke got the feeling he was getting sized up. “Is he as… adventurous as our dear warden?”

Before either Isabela or Hawke had time to speak, it was Anders who retorted.

“The Warden?” He said in surprise. “ _The_ Warden? The one who ended The Blight? I’ve heard of you, weren't you that elf who accompanied her to help slay the Archdemon?”

“You knew Solona?” The man said in equal surprise. “I never heard her speak of you.”

“I can hardly imagine why she would have,” Anders said. Hawke and Fenris were staring at the three of them - Isabela, this mysterious elf, and Anders - watching the conversation with interest. Of all the things they had considered when encountering this man, a happy reunion was farthest from their expectations. Anders continued. “I’m Anders. We were in the circle together when were were young. I didn’t know her well until right before the last time I escaped the Circle - for good, finally. And then after I left I got word of her; how she was conscripted into the Gray Wardens, Maker help her. We never spoke after I left. I wanted to, but I never had the chance.”

“Ah, my friend,” the elf said. “I know the sentiment. I only wish she were here.”

“Listen,” Hawke said finally, growing a bit tired of the confusion. He directed his words towards Isabela. “Familiar gatherings aside, I _would_ like to know what’s going on.”

“Forgive me, my dear Champion,” the elf said, making a slight bow. “I am Zevran Arainai. Wandering adventurer and occasional assassin. At your service.”

“And all three of you know one another?” Hawke asked. “And apparently are all familiar with the Hero of Ferelden.”

Isabela smiled at Hawke’s choice of words. “Anders only wishes he were so familiar with her.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said, trying to hide the tinge in his cheeks.

“Regardless,” Isabela continued. “You are right, a bit. Zevran and I have known each other for… longer than I care to remember, I think.”

“You wound me, Isabela.” Zevran said with a smile. “And here, I thought you were saddened over my absence this entire time.”

“I suppose it has been a while since I’ve seen you,” she said with a wistful sigh. ”That room at the Pearl seems so many years ago, doesn’t it. Care to share what - or who - you’ve been doing since you disappeared?”

For the first time, Zevran’s smile seemed to falter for just a moment before he regained his composure.

“Another time, perhaps,” he said, a bit of the luster gone from his voice. “I am… still in mourning.”

“You _fell_ for the Warden?” Isabela asked incredulously. “You really _did_ go soft, didn’t you.” She seemed to want to continue but something in Zevran’s eyes made her pause.

“I must admit,” Zevran said after a moment. It was clear he was trying to change the subject. “I was expecting an assault from The Crows, not the mighty champion of Kirkwall.”

“If that’s who you were expecting that might have been who hired me to take you in,” Hawke said, torn between laughing and scowling. This situation was absurd.

“Ah…” Zevran sighed. “Let me guess. A man named Nuncio has asked you to capture a dangerous madman.” Zevran’s tone suddenly turned bitter. “Tell me, what did he say this time? That I killed his wife? Butchered his parents? Sold his children into slavery? Or…” his tone returned to humorous as fast as it had turned sour. “Perhaps he told you he was a lawman from Antiva, charged with apprehending a _ridiculously_ handsome fugitive.”

Zevran smiled when that drew a chuckle from Hawke. Flirting and jokes seemed to be this man’s language, and Hawke was easily reminded of Varric. Taking the bait, he replied, “He didn’t say _how_ handsome.” Hawke could almost hear Fenris’ behind him rolling his eyes. He still hadn’t spoken since they arrived.

“Bring me to Nuncio if you wish, but I muts warn you; he does indeed intend to see you dead. Shortly after he intends to see _me_ dead, I assume. Nuncio is not especially fond of loose ends… unlike myself. But you are a man who can clearly handle himself, no? Why worry.”

“So are you not a dangerous madman, then?” Hawke asked, and Isabela laughed.

“I don’t know if I would go that far,” she said. Hawke decided to defer to her judgement for the situation.

“Well, what do you think?” He asked. Isabela gave Zevran a once-over and then shrugged when she made her decision. “I’ve had better.”

“I meant about letting him go,” Hawke said with distaste. Isabela chuckled. “Oh, right. I’d say let him go.”

“As a suggestion,” Zevran said in afterthought. “I would deal with Nuncio as soon as you depart. When he discovers you have turned traitor, he will no doubt come after you. Just a bit of advice. Oh, and Isabela, if you would be so kind as to return when you are through. I have something I would like to discuss in a more private setting.”

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “As kind as he is breathtaking. He is just like our dear Warden, is he not.”

“Excellent!” Zevran stood in the middle of a small pile of bodies, pulling his dagger from the chest of a man who then fell to the ground. He wiped his blade on the clothes of the fallen mercenary, and faced Hawke. “My dear Champion, you have _such_ a way with your magical staff.”

Dealing with Nuncio and his band of misfits had been difficult, but Zevran’s help made it tolerable. Hawke had been surprised at first, when Zevran showed up at the clearing after they had allowed him to leave. But with a wave of his hands, and what seemed like a bit of sarcasm, he admitted nothing could keep him from seeing the Champion of Kirkwall in action.

Once Hawke and company had left the caves where Zevran was hiding, they’d quickly traveled to Nuncio’s camp to assess the situation. Or fight, if the need arose, which was likely. And Zevran hadn’t been lying when he said that Nuncio hated loose ends. Relishing for a moment that it would have been nice to have Hawke on the Crows side, he attacked. Zevran and Isabela let the others take the brunt of the force, ghosting from one side of the battle field to the other as they took down the majority of the weaker opponents. Fenris attacked Nuncio head on, something Zevran later called a daring move. Anders and Hawke tried to control the field as much as possible, loosing spells with low mana consumption to slow the enemies attacks or pin them in place. Once the smaller nuances were out of the way, and Fenris had given more than one shout of annoyance at being left to tank the leader on his own, the five of them attacked Nuncio at once. It was quick work, and Zevran took apparant pleasure in each slash of his daggers.

After dragging the bodies to one side of the camp and looting everything possible, they’d stopped to say their farewells. Hawke had pictured this going much differently, but considering the amount of loot they’d plundered from the camp, he wasn’t complaining.

“Killing my former brothers in arms is oddly satisfying,” Zevran said. He clasped his hands and gazed down at the dead bodies littered around his feet. “And we all remain in one piece! It is a good day indeed. I hope we learned a lesson, then; you cannot trust an assassin. Unless,” he added, placing a hand over his heart. “He is ridiculously handsome.”

Hawke voiced a sudden concern. “Am I to expect more of these men to come after me, now that I’ve not only helped you escape but also killed their leader?” Hawke glanced at his comrades strewn about the camp. Fenris was sitting stiff-backed on the ground as he reluctantly allowed Anders to heal a deep cut on his shoulder. Isabela had disappeared into Nuncio’s tent, no doubt hoping for greater spoils. The only person in any real danger was Hawke himself, but he didn’t want to risk anyone else being killed on account of some “loose ends."

Zevran laughed as if the idea were ridiculous. “No, no, I would not worry. Even if Nuncio was not the only leader among them, he was by far the strongest of the Crows. It may have taken five of us to defeat him, but rest assured that anyone else they might send after you will be no match.”

This was the second time he had mentioned a group named “The Crows”, and Hawke grew curious.

“So when you speak of The Crows, I assume you don’t mean the bird.”

Zevran looked appalled, throwing his hands up in dismay. “Oh! _Please_ , do not tell me you know nothing of the Antivan Crows! We are the finest guild of assassins in all Thedas, an object of fear throughout the nation. Popular amongst angry dignitaries and nobles with wealthy enemies. Or,” he added. “I should say _they_ are. It has been some time, and I am no longer a Crow. A fact they find rather detestable.”

“That’s why they wanted you dead?” Hawke asked in surprise. “For leaving the guild?”

“Trust me,” Zevran said with a shrug. “That is reason enough for them. Also I may have killed everyone they have sent after me so far. Present exclusions accounted for.”

“So what do you plan on doing after this?” Hawke asked. “Now that the main threat of danger has been taken care of.”

“Well,” Zevran explained. “I have a bit of a war to wage at home. I think perhaps now it is safe for me to proceed.”

Hawke was struck with a sudden idea, one he most likely should have thought out further before expressing. “Why don’t you join us?”

“What? We’re taking the assassin now?” Anders said from behind him. Hawke hadn’t noticed Anders and Fenris returning. Fenris was rubbing his still sore shoulder with a glare that Anders either didn’t see, or decided to ignore. Zevran smiled, thinking those words were familiar.

“I thought you knew him? Hawke asked.

“I knew _of_ him,” Anders said. “That doesn’t mean I trust him farther than I can throw him. He just turned on his own men, don’t you think we should be a little wary?”

Hawke shrugged. “He seems alright. And he can handle himself in a fight. He’d be a good ally.”

Zevran laughed again, thinking this was a conversation he’d had before. Zevran thought, for a moment, that Hawke reminded him very much so of The Warden. Perhaps that was reason enough to decline. He had no desire to follow around in this man’s wake if it also meant following Solona’s shadow. It had been close to eleven years, but his heart still ached at the her memory.

“I… do not know if that is a wise idea.”

“Is this some granule of sense, coming from dear Zevran?” Isabela joined them now, having returned from searching Nuncio’s tent. Whether she found anything of value was not clear as she carried nothing in her arms, but she wore a smile that told a different story. “I would have thought you’d jump at the chance to follow someone like Hawke around. He is rather like The Warden, isn’t he?”

Zevran’s voice was dry when he replied. “You are correct there, my dear.”

Hawke could tell that something had gone unsaid between them, although he had no idea what it might be. Both of them, even Anders, had spoken of The Warden, Solona, as if she were an old friend or a member of the family. There was a sadness surrounding her memory that couldn’t be shaken, even after all these years. Hawke was reminded of the time he spend mourning his siblings. It had been seven years since bethany’s death, and almost nine since Carver’s, and yet there was still a feeling of remorse. Hawke could understand.  

“Perhaps upon later consideration, I will accept your offer, my dear Champion. For now, I have business to attend to.”

“That’s it?” Isabela said in shock. “You’re leaving? What about sex?”

Fenris and Anders rolled their eyes in unison but Zevran chuckled, as did Hawke. “Another time, perhaps,” Zevran said. His voice sounded sad, almost regretful. “The wounds are still a little too fresh.”

“You know it’s been over ten years,” Isabela said in a soft voice. Hawke felt suddenly like this wasn’t a conversation meant for his ears. “You need to live a little.” Misplaced as it were, her comment seemed to touch a nerve.

“I think we all need to live a little, hm?” He said. Isabela made no further remarks. Zevran reached into the pack strapped to his side. “For you, dear Champion. I have little to repay you with, but perhaps this will convey my thanks.”

A few gold coins clinked in his gauntlets, but Hawke took Zevran’s hand and let the coins fall back into his palms.

“Keep it,” he said. “I daresay that we have enough treasure from what we’ve gathered here. And besides, Isabela seems fond of you - ” he chanced a look in her direction, thinking he still hadn’t quite understood their conversation from earlier. “ - well, sort of, anyway. So consider this a favor for a friend. Or a friend of a friend, how ever you want to take it.”

Zevran smiled, and took the coins. He didn’t return them to his pack, just held them in hands, and met Isabela’s eyes.

“As kind as he is breathtaking. He is just like our dear Warden, is he not.” It wasn’t a question, but Isabela replied anyway. “I told you so.”

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela and Hawke have a short chat about Zevran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short, but I'm working on things for the next chapter and didn't like the idea of putting them together.

The next few evenings found Hawke and Isabela at a small, dirty table in the Hanged Man. Not to say all the tables there weren’t small and dirty, of course. Fenris had joined them at first. But the night was closing, and Fenris admitted he wanted to rest. He mentioned that he had business the next day and wanted sleep. Hawke placed a gentle touch on his shoulder in farewell, and Fenris departed. Out of sorts by the buzz of ale fogging his head, Hawke asked a few questions about their meeting with Zevran a few days previous.

“So what was that all about anyway?” He took a long pull from his mug. His head was feeling very heavy indeed. If he had been of a mind he might have thought to keep his questions to himself. Isabela almost pretended to be unsure of what he was referring to, but decided to answer with honesty. She was on the same number of pints that Hawke was, and was taking them far better than him. 

“You mean with Zevran?” She asked. She swirled a few sips of ale around in her cup before downing them. “He’s an old friend, that’s all.”

“You two seemed pretty friendly," Hawke added. That might been his idea of jesting, but Isabela ignored the underhanded comment. "Not to mention both of you knew the Warden. The Hero of Fereldan! That’s impressive, I would say.”

Isabela shrugged. “I didn’t actually know her,” She admitted. “I met her a few times, in Denerim. I even taught her a couple battling techniques. Zevran had joined her after he-... well, it’s a bit of a complicated story, actually.”

Hawke shook his head, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on his palm. “I have no other plans. I’m curious. You have a rather broad net of acquaintances.”

Isabela sighed, trying to put the few details she knew into a reasonable time line. “I don’t know everything that happened, but Zevran told me he was hired by someone to kill the Warden - Solona.”

“To kill her?” Hawke asked. “And now they’re together? What a terrible way to start a relationship with someone.”

Isabela smirked. “And  _ you’re  _ dating an angry, bristly elf who likes to punch holes through people for fun. You’re one to talk. Anyway, they  _ were _ together. She is dead, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Hawke seemed to deflate a bit at her comment.

“Oh, right, I’m... I’m sorry,” He said, but Isabela waved a dismissive hand. 

“Don’t bother, I didn’t know her like that.” She seemed to reconsider something, and added, “I mean I guess you could say I did. I did sleep with her once. That was grand. But otherwise I only spoke to her a few times. She was very friendly, though. I didn’t join them during their expedition, but they did visit Denerim a lot. Sometimes we, and whoever she had with her, would share a few drinks at the tavern. This was right after I had lost the relic Castillon wanted, mind you. I was only in Denerim to hide, although I guess I had done a piss poor job if a fool like Zevran could stumble into me so easy. I left before the bloody war started in the Market District, lucky for me or I'd be dead by now. I just  _ know  _ Zevran would have asked me to come with them to defeat the Archdemon if I were there still. I would have been a fool, but I would have agreed. I... owe him too many favors.”

“What kind of favors?” Hawke asked. Isabela picked up a half empty bottle of wine in front of them and began picking off the label. Hawke was a bit surprised - he had never seen her have a nervous habit. He almost regretted asking, but Isabela replied nonetheless.

“Remember when I told you that my husband had conveniently  been assassinated? Well… that was Zevran. And no," she said, interrupting Hawke's question before he could ask it. " _ I  _ didn’t hire him. I don’t know who did. He was a wealthy and powerful man, and I wasn’t the only one who wanted him dead. But Zevran came one night and murdered him in his sleep. I was there. He almost killed me too, but…. I don’t know, I don’t remember saying anything particularly convincing, but he didn’t. So I owe him my life twice now. Once for freeing me from my husband, and once for sparing me in the same night. If the Crows had known he’d let me go free they might have killed him, too. Not fond of loose ends, you know. Although I doubt it was the first time he had broken the rules. Maybe he just did it for spite. Who knows? It doesn’t matter, I guess.” She finally took a long sip from the bottle in her hands, as if trying as fast as she might to forget this conversation. 

Hawke was silent for a moment, watching her brush the scraps of paper she’d shredded to the floor. He didn’t exactly know what to say. This was a personal story he didn’t know he been about to walk into. But he did wonder if talking about this had helped Isabela feel any better about it. At least he hoped she at least didn’t feel worse. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean to pry, honest. But I’m glad you trust me enough to talk about these things.”

Isabela rolled her eyes at the sentiment of his comment. “Oh, posh. I haven’t had enough wine  _ or  _ ale for you to be crying all over me. Or me all over you. Can we just continue with our drinking?”

Her tone was playful enough, but Hawke detected a bitterness that he didn’t entirely understand. He worried he had touched a nerve, but had no way to fix things without making yet another too-personal comment or inquiry. Letting it be, he plucked the bottle from Isabela’s hands and finished it off. With luck, neither of them would remember this conversation in the morning. 

But when the morning did come, he remembered their conversation in vivid detail. Maybe that wine wasn’t as strong as he thought it had been. He was in his own bed, but wasn’t quite sure of how he’d gotten home. Considering everything past walking out the door of the tavern was a smudged blur, he was surprised he hadn’t gotten mugged a few times on the way. Looking down to see Fenris sleeping at his side was a clear mark, however. Isabela had likely taken pity on his drunken self and called for Fenris to drag him home. Maker forbid, he hadn’t said some embarrassing things again, he was that kind of drunk. He made a mental note to ask about it later. 

Fenris was curled up with his back facing Hawke, blankets tucked around his waist to show off the markings across the dark skin of his shoulders. Hawke lifted a hand to trace the line that parallelled his spine, loving the way the markings illuminated just the slightest amount with his touch. 

“What  _ are  _ you doing,” a voice said. Hawke recognized that deep rumble; Fenris was awake after all. He rolled on his shoulder to face Hawke now, who was propped up with his head on his palm. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said with a smile. “What are  _ you  _ doing?”

“I was sleeping. I do require it sometimes. But I see more important things are amiss. Are your hands always so wandering?”

Hawke chuckled, brushing his fingers through Fenris’ hair. “I was under the impression my wandering hands were one of my better qualities.”

Fenris closed his eyes and allowed Hawke’s hand to trail down his face, around the soft curve of his jaw. His thumb rested on the forked silver line of lyrium markings below his bottom lip. “I suppose you should take your victories where you can get them.” 

Hawke laughed at his jest, a warm sound that seemed to fill the room. Fenris would never tire of hearing him laugh. “A dagger in my heart, you wound me! But where would I be without you to keep me so humble.”

“Something akin to ‘Supreme and Mighty Ruler of Kirkwall’, no doubt.”

Hawke’s hand ran down Fenris’ neck, touching the skin below his ear, then the underside of his chin, and the sharp jut of bone on his collar. “That’s a rather high opinion to have,” He said. Hawke’s touch against his skin was rather distracting, and Fenris let Hawke continue rather than retort. Fenris wanted to mutter something about having low standards but couldn't quite form the words. “But, you know, I think I’d rather have you here if that means giving up being king. Far less paperwork and politics with you around. Easier just to kill everyone I disagree with.”

“Glad I could be of service,” Fenris said. When he spoke, he noticed his voice was heavy. He was too distracted by Hawke’s hand on his chest, his rough and war ragged fingers caressing his ribs, then the dip of his waist, and finding the tender skin of his inner thigh. "But surely you have a more  _ entertaining  _ job for me than doing your metaphorical paperwork." Hawke laughed again at Fenris’ wild attempts at seduction. Sometimes, he thought, this man was too much. Fenris eyes were still closed but he could feel the heat of Hawke’s face on his as he leaned close. When Hawke spoke, his breath fanned across Fenris’ parted lips. 

“Hmm… I can think of a few things.”


End file.
